


Still Waiting For The Snow To Fall

by empty_venom



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: ((they're all just mentions none of it happens in real time)), Alcoholism, Christmas, Christmas fic, Death, Emotional Abuse, Fluff, Frerardhub Winter 2013 Challenge, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Oh god, Physical Abuse, Rape, asshole!Frank, festive!gerard, it is fluffy I promise, mentions of:, that is literally the worst tag to put after fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 02:54:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empty_venom/pseuds/empty_venom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank hates Christmas.</p><p>Like, Frank really hates Christmas.</p><p>So who's Gerard to change that?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still Waiting For The Snow To Fall

**Author's Note:**

> This took me, like, 4 days to write which is ace for me because whenever I try and start something, I give up within 20 minutes. So. Yeah. Christmas Frerard. 
> 
> Also horrendous overuse of italics.

Frank hates Christmas. 

 

Like, Frank really hates Christmas. 

 

There are too many stupid lights everywhere, even at night when he’s trying to get some well deserved unconscious hours, but there’s the dumb flickering of the neon lights outside his window making any thought of sleep impossible. At least until they’re finally - fucking _finally_ \- turned off. 

 

He hates the cheery Christmas songs that take over every radio station, over every music channel on TV, that are constantly playing in every shop or cafe he goes into. They have shitty lyrics and generic tunes that pretty much make Frank want to claw his own eyeballs out and possible eat them if that’s what it takes to banish all the Christmas music from the world.

 

He _especially_ hates the people around Christmas. All their excitement and their cheer. Walking down the street is almost impossible in December; there are so many people with thousands of paper bags full of plastic crap bought for kids that are in no way deserving of the gifts. 

 

So yeah, Frank fucking hates Christmas and every little detail that comes with it. 

 

So who’s Gerard to change that?

 

\--

 

“Fuck this. Fuck it all.” Frank spits, as the cash register gets stuck for the fifty-billionth time that day. 

 

He absolutely does not need this right now. 

 

There are about a thousand customers in the damn shop that his best friend owns and he only got roped into this stupid overtime because there were promises of alcohol and a lot of pizza.

 

In hindsight, Frank should have asked for a lot more because this is getting fucking ridiculous. 

 

“I’m sorry about this.” Frank glances at the woman over the till who is very obviously staring at Frank’s tattoos in disgust, her lips pursed and eyes pulled into thin slits as she eyes the ink on his fingers that are hovering over the keys on the register. 

 

“It’s... fine.” She mutters in reply, shaking her head slightly, blonde hair falling from the tightly-scraped and styled bun atop her head and into her eyes. 

When the till decides to work again, Frank has to breathe a little sigh of relief. The woman’s staring was getting unnerving. 

 

“Here’s your change, I put your receipt in the bag. Have a nice day.” And Frank flashes her the most fake smile he’s ever pulled and she sneers lightly in reply, grabbing the handles of the bag from him as if the longer he’s holding her items, the more he’s infecting them. 

 

Frank is already so over today and it’s not even 11am. 

 

Seriously, who Christmas shops at 11am? And why the _fuck_ are they making so much goddam noise? It’s making it incredibly difficult for Frank to focus on hating his life. 

 

“Hey, man.” Bob’s voice is suddenly very, very close and, yep, Frank nearly died.

 

“Jesus Christ, you motherfucker.” Frank slaps his hand over his chest. “You scared the shit outta me.” 

 

“One, that’s gross. Two, people are complaining about your language. Sort it out.” Bob nods once and then he’s off again, disappearing into the crowds of shuffling bodies in his stupid little shop. 

 

 _Fuck Bob. Fuck Bob and his shop and his stupid fucking beard. Big dumbass should shave that shit off._ Frank thinks, angrily.

 

\--

 

When Frank arrives home to his crappy little flat, Mama’s waiting at the door, whining like she hasn't been fed in hours. Which, Frank thinks, is understandable, seeing as she hasn't. 

 

“Sorry, baby.” Frank coos and bends down to pick her up, grunting slightly under her weight. “You’re one fat puppy. Maybe not eating for a few hours will do you some good.” He kicks the door shut with his foot and drops his keys into the bowl on the radiator. 

 

Mama yips at him at bites and his fingers. 

 

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Frank mumbles as he makes his way into the kitchen and she leaps out of his arms, plopping on to the floor. Her nails scratch on the grubby floor tiles as she scrambled over to her bowl, pawing it at and nudging it with her nose.

 

“Hold on! Someone’s impatient tonight.” Frank grumbles. 

 

His feet are fucking killing him, Bob didn't even let him have a lunch break as the shop was packed all day. So Frank’s tired and pissed and he just wants to crawl into bed and sleep forever, but he’s promised Bob he’d work tomorrow. 

 

In a way, he has a new-found respect for his best friend. 

Retail work takes a hell of a lot more effort than he thought. Maybe he’ll actually eat breakfast tomorrow morning, rather than just drinking coffee with an assload of sugar. 

 

Kneeling on the counter, he grabs a tin of dog food from the top shelf while Mama watches him intently with her beady black eyes. 

 

“You’re such a creep, baby.” Frank grins tiredly at his dog as he tips the food into the bowl. Mama’s buried her face nose-deep in the food almost instantly and Frank lets out a small giggle. 

 

“Me too, Mama. Me too.” He shoves a couple of poptarts into the toaster (fuck all the freaks who eat them without toasting them, that shit isn't _right_ ) and leans against the counter. 

 

“Fuckin’ holidays suck, man.” He lets out a sigh, talking to no-one in particular. “What even is the hype for it? It’s like, some fat man creeps into your house and gives your kids presents and takes your food. What isn't weird about that? Like, I don’t get it.” Frank rubs his hands over his face. “And now I’m discussing my views with a dog who’s stuffing her face with processed meat. Great.” Mama looks up, snout covered in gravy. 

 

“I still love you, baby.” Frank promises and Mama snorts then goes back to eating. “You should count yourself lucky. You’re the only girl I need in my life.” And if Frank neglects to mention he’s gay to his dog then who cares? 

 

With the only sound in the apartment being Mama’s sloppy eating (and the stupid _fucking_ music he can hear from the room next to his - seriously, what the _fuck_ ), of _course_ the toaster makes him jump.

 

“Who the hell even invented toasters anyway?” Frank could not be any more over this day. Mama stares up at him, head cocked to the side, tongue flapping out to lick at her snout.

 

“I don’t know what you’re looking at, dog.” Frank transfers the poptarts to a paper plate (fuck off, he’s only been living in the apartment for a few months) and nibbles at the edges. Mama trots out the room, her tail wagging rapidly. “What’re you so happy about?” 

 

When Mama returns, she has the end of her leash in her mouth.

 

“Oh, fuck no.” Frank shakes his head. There is absolutely no way his dumbass dog is getting him to walk her at this time. He just wants to eat his poptarts, get the fuck into bed and fall asleep. There is no fucking wa- and Mama’s doing the stupid sad eyes that she just knows how to and when to use on Frank to completely fuck him over.

 

“Fuck you, little bitch.” Frank stands, shoving the rest of the poptart in his mouth. He reaches down and clasps the leash on to the collar and Mama’s staring up at him smugly, her little paws shuffling. “Yeah, whatever. If I get mugged by carolers I’m blaming you.”

 

He slips his Vans on and grabs his phone and keys, almost being pulled over by his far too excited dog. 

 

“Literally, I walk you, like, every day. I don’t know what’s so exciting any more.” Frank unlocks the front door and Mama’s already dashing off, tugging at her leash and, consequently, Frank’s patience. 

 

“Such an idiot.” Frank sighs and shoves his hands in his jacket pockets. 

 

\--

 

Frank should have known that the park around the corner from his complex was the number 1 place he should have avoided, but he’s dumb and he wanted this walk to be over as soon as possible and the park was the closest option.

 

As soon as he steps foot in it, he regrets all of his decisions in life. 

 

It’s just Christmas everywhere.

 

It makes Frank want to throw up. 

 

Mama fucking loves it. 

 

There’s lights strung up everywhere, all over the trees and the railings and the little kids play area. There’s little stalls selling crappy Christmas ornaments and other shit that people will buy just because it’s Christmas. And - okay, maybe Frank is a little thankful for this - there’s a stall that’s selling coffee, which is what he makes a beeline for. 

 

It pisses him off a little that’s he’s buying coffee from a stall that has tinsel around the window and fairy lights all over it, but he forgot to get coffee at home and his tolerance level will undoubtedly be higher if he just gets some caffeine in his system.

 

There’s a queue the size of Texas which isn't doing anything to help Frank’s hatred for everything cheerful, and Mama’s scratching at his pants leg and making pathetic whining noises and, fine, Frank feels a little bit bad. 

 

But not bad enough to loose his place in the queue. 

 

He withdraws one hand from his hoodie pocket to pull his hood over his tangled black hair and scrapes his fringe out of his eyes. It’s really due for a cut round about now, but Frank is taking laziness to the extreme and can’t be bothered to pick up the phone and call for an appointment. 

 

The queue moves pretty quickly, surprisingly enough, and Frank’s thanking his lucky stars.

 

What he doesn't count on, though, is the annoyingly attractive man behind the counter. He’s only a few places away from delicious, bitter heaven, when he’s stopped in his (metaphorical) tracks by the man serving the coffee. 

 

He hadn't got a proper look before now, but he’s instantaneously pissed by the - what he thought before was a hat, but no - fucking firetruck red hair that’s refusing to sit flat and the green round of tinsel acting as a halo on his head. He’s got the most disgustingly gaudy Christmas jumper on which has lights, fucking lights, sewed into it. Not to mention, he’s belting Mariah Carey’s ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’ at the top of his lungs while pouring milk into Styrofoam cups.

 

This man is pretty much everything Frank hates about Christmas _personified_. 

 

It’s almost enough to make Frank walk the fuck out of that queue, but it’s his stupid, pretty face that stops him. 

 

The bright, shiny gold eyes that reflect the flicker of the twinkling fairy lights that stops him. 

 

The cute, upturned nose that looks like it would suit a pixie that stops him. 

 

The pink lips, curved into a happy smile, that stops him.

 

And that’s that, Frank’s sub-conscious mind decides. You've got to make him yours or you’re fucked for life.

 

Frank’s mouth, though, didn't seem to get the memo, so as soon as it’s his turn to order coffee, he’s grumbling out his request, keeping his head down.

 

“What was that? You've gotta speak up, babe.” The man grins down at him and Frank notices how small his teeth are, which only makes him more endearing, if that’s possible. 

 

“Just a large coffee, black.” Frank repeats, voice a little louder this time. His cheeks are heating up at the pet name that’s already seemingly been established. 

 

“What’s the magic wo-ord?” The redhead sings, getting all up in Frank’s face and he can smell coffee and cinnamon and pine. 

 

Frank gives him a look that pretty much says ‘ _I will literally slice your cute little nose off if you don’t get me my coffee right the fuck now, fuckass._ ’ and the man seems to get the message as he leans back, pouting. 

 

Frank’s heart absolutely does not skip a beat. 

 

“Alright, fine Mr Stressy-Pants. Large black coffee coming right up!” Frank’s anger certainly hasn't put a dampener on the man’s festive spirit, as he resumes singing his Christmas songs.

 

Frank can’t decide whether to grimace at the horrible lyrics or to shut the fuck up and listen, because this coffee man has one of the most beautiful, husky voices he’s ever heard. He guesses that it’s a mixture between the two, because when coffee man turns back to face him, plastic cup in hand, his voice dies down and a slightly self-conscious look crosses his face.

 

“Someone’s not feeling very festive this year.” The man frowns as Frank takes his cup off coffee.

 

“Or any year.” Frank counters and a look of horror crosses the man’s face.

 

“Seriously?! Christmas is the best! Man, gimme that cup back a sec.” He makes grabby hands at the cup and Frank’s almost a little reluctant to give it over, unsure that he’ll get it back. 

 

“I’m not going to take it from you, I just wanna write my number on it.” He sighs and rolls his eyes, leaning over the counter and grabbing it before Frank can protest.

 

He gasps, then coos down at Mama, who’s feeling a little forgotten. “Aw! She’s so cute! What’s her name?” 

 

“Mama.” Frank’s getting good at these short answers.

 

“Adorable; I love dogs.” The man replies and Frank’s beginning to think he loves just about everything. 

 

When he straightens out, he pulls a pen out of his hair - his _hair_ \- and scribbles across the Styrofoam in red ink that matches said hair.

 

“Here. My name’s Gerard.” The man - Gerard - grins as he hands Frank his cup of coffee back, and Frank’s stood there a little dumbfounded at the whole exchange. 

 

“This is usually the part where you tell me yours?” Gerard pulls Frank out of his daze. 

 

“Oh, right. Yeah. Iero. Frank Iero. Is my name.” And what the fuck? Iero, Frank Iero? Way to sound like a tool.

 

Gerard just giggles. “Well, Iero, Frank Iero, I look forward to convincing you that Christmas is the best thing ever.” 

 

Frank nods stupidly and walks off, Mama glad that she can move her stubby little legs further than a few feet.

 

\--

 

Frank’s strange conversation with Gerard plays over and over in his head all night as he stares at the now empty cup in his hands. 

 

He can’t stop thinking about how Gerard’s nose wrinkled slightly when he pouted at Frank’s lack of festive cheer, or how his mouth didn't fit around his words properly, or his gasp when he saw Mama (who’s now knocked out and lying across Frank’s lap, a heavy reminder that he’s still not asleep) and it’s annoying him.

 

Because he should hate Gerard.

 

Gerard is quite literally Christmas, compressed into one unfortunate human being. Frank’s hate should be even more concentrated towards Gerard, but somehow the redhead has managed to worm his way under Frank’s skin and it’s pissing him off to no end. 

 

He wants to sleep, he wants to forget all about this beautiful man but there’s no way that’s happening. 

 

Well, maybe he can sleep. 

 

\--

 

The next morning, Frank isn't feeling nearly as refreshed as he thought he’d be. His legs are killing him, his feet ache and his back hurts. Mama’s slumped across his chest, making it difficult to breathe.

 

“C'mon, baby.” Frank rolls over and Mama whines as she’s flopped off on to the bed space next to them. 

 

And then he remembers what happened last night.

 

He lets out a tired groan and his eyes flicker to the cup on his bedside table, still unsure what to do about it. 

 

He decides he’ll ask Bob about it today. He’ll know what to do.

 

\--

 

Frank even gets to the shop a little earlier than he’s required. That is dedication on Frank’s part and he’s actually proud of himself. He’ll catch Bob before his shift starts, question him about the cup and the number and absolutely nothing can go wrong. 

 

Apart from the fact that Bob turns up at the door to the shop with Gerard. 

 

“Hey, babe!” Gerard half shouts as he approaches the front of the shop. Frank is, once again, rendered useless as he watches Gerard’s shiny red hair bounce as he runs. 

 

“I...”

 

“You two know each other?” Bob raises a questioning eyebrow at Frank, whose eyes are still wide with shock. 

 

“We met last night.” Gerard frowns at Frank and Frank feels as bad as he did that one time he accidentally kicked Mama off the bed. She refused to even look his way for a week.

 

“Oh, okay. I was gonna say, I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who knows Gerard who doesn’t like christmas.” Bob shrugs and unlocks the door to the shop. 

 

“I...” Frank repeats. 

 

“Man, I thought you were actually going to ring me or something. You could’ve sent me a text so I didn’t spend half the night beside the phone with a list of reasons why christmas is amazing.” Gerard folds his arms across his chest. 

 

“I... You actually did that?” Frank squints disbelievingly. 

 

Gerard’s cheeks turn a shade to rival his hair. 

 

“Um.” Frank replies cleverly. 

 

“Guys, I need help in here?!” Bob shouts from inside and Gerard huffs in Frank’s direction, turns on his heel and marches inside the shop.

 

“I... What?” Frank whispers to himself. 

 

\-- 

 

Frank does actually manage to talk to Bob before his shift starts, just not about what he wanted to talk to him about. 

 

Bob pulls him aside by his arm. “Hey, Frank. I just wanted to tell you that Gerard’s going to be working here for a bit. I thought he could help with the christmassy-ness, y’know?”

 

Frank really did know, not that he wanted to know. 

 

“Yeah, I just... How do you know him, again?” Frank asks. 

 

“I-Uh... I’m dating his little brother?” Bob scratches the back of his neck and shifts on his feet a little uncomfortably. 

 

“Oh.” Frank’s a little taken aback. “So, are you...?”

 

“No. No, I don’t think so. It’s just Mikey.” There’s a faint trace of a smile on his face which is quickly wiped away when Gerard comes into the back room.

 

“Okay, Frank, I’m prepared to forgive you.” For what? Frank thinks. “Because of my all-caring nature and kind ways at Christmas time. Any other time of the year I would have probably chopped your dick off for being so mean to me.” 

 

Frank shoots an appalled look in Bob’s direction, who only nods in confirmation. Frank’s beginning to think that Gerard might need to see someone.

 

“As long as you help me put up the decorations and sing Christmas songs with me.” Gerard bargains and Frank’s immediately shaking his head.

 

“Hell no. Fuck if that’s happening.” Frank holds his hands out in front of him. 

 

Gerard heaves a sigh, as if negotiating takes a great deal of effort for him. 

 

“Fine, you don’t have to sing. Just put the decorations up with me and we’ll call it even.” 

 

Frank weighs up his options here. He could either: 

a.) Not put the decorations up with Gerard and risk Gerard being mad at him for longer and possibly even lose the chance to ever have something with Gerard.

b.) Put the decorations up with Gerard and go through the torture of having to do something festive with someone ridiculously festive just so that he can have a glimmer of hope that maybe one day he and Gerard might be something more.

 

The choice was obvious, really.

 

“Alright, okay, I’ll put the decorations up with you, you raving lunatic.” Frank rolled his eyes, the name used as a term of endearment, and Gerard squeaks and claps his hands.

 

“Fab!” Already Frank’s regretting this slightly; he just heard a grownass man say ‘fab’. “We need to start now before the shoppers come!” He grabs Frank’s wrist and whisks him out of the back room to start the decorating.

 

\-- 

 

By the time they've finished deccing the place out, there’s not a surface in sight that isn’t covered in tinsel or lights or tacky ornaments that fills Frank’s heart with a deep, burning hate. 

 

This also gave Gerard the chance to fill Frank in on his list of reasons why Christmas is amazing. 

 

It took an hour.

 

“It looks... amazing!” Gerard cries, throwing his arms in the air and laughing. 

 

“Hm.” Frank hums and blows a strand of hair out of his eyes, and maybe he doesn't think it looks that bad, but he’ll never admit that to anyone, not even himself. Especially not himself. 

 

“It looks great and you can’t deny it, Iero!” Gerard points an accusing finger and Frank, who shrugs. 

 

“Uh... Okay. It looks pretty cool.” Gerard grins at him again, stupid fucker. He must know what he’s doing to Frank by now. 

 

“So, I, uh, my shift. It starts soon, I gotta...” Frank almost trips over an empty cardboard box in his haste to get the hell out of there and to the back room where he can almost hear Bob laughing his ass off. 

 

“Thanks for your help, Frankie!” Gerard calls after him, the confusion clear in his voice. Frank’s face turns an impressive shade of red at the nickname. 

 

\--

 

“Man, what even is he?” Frank sighs as he knocks back the rest of the alcohol in the bottle and sets it back down on the bar. 

 

“I told you, Mikey’s older brother.” Bob shrugs and Frank rolls his eyes.

 

“Yeah, I fuckin’ know that, but why is he, like, so happy all the time?” Frank shoves at Bob with his shoulder. 

 

“Probably to do with the alcoholism or something.”

 

“The what?” Frank’s eyes widen in shock. 

 

“I... Nothing. Forget I ever said anything, man.” Bob averts his gaze from Frank, swigging from his bottle. 

 

“You can’t just leave me hanging, dude!” Frank cries.

 

“It’s not my story to tell. I can’t say anything.” Bob’s tone is serious and, yeah, Frank can respect that, so he just nods. 

 

“Okay, I get it.” And the conversation ends there. 

 

The proceed to get spec-fucking-tacularly drunk because it’s Saturday and the shop doesn't open on Sundays.

 

\--

 

It’s a week after Gerard started working at Bob’s store and Frank’s lost count the amount of times he’s blushed in the past 7 days. 

 

It’s a staggering amount for a grown man. 

 

Gerard’s taken to calling Frank either ‘babe’ or ‘Frankie’ most of the time, sometimes a mixture of the two (Frank doesn't tell anyone but he almost had heart palpitations when he heard “Frankie babe!” in Gerard’s throaty voice being yelled breathlessly from the back room). 

 

(It turns out, disappointingly, Gerard was just having some trouble moving boxes around in the back room, much to Frank's chagrin.)

 

Almost every morning, Gerard’s waiting outside the shop on a morning for Frank, 2 cups of hot coffee in hand, whether Bob’s opened up yet or not. It always has just the right  
amount of sugar in it, depending on his mood that morning, and Frank really has no idea how he does it.

 

Gerard may be all of the bad things about Christmas wrapped up into one human shaped parcel, but he’s also all the good things that Frank wants in his life stuffed into one perfect man. 

 

So what if Frank’s starting to hate Christmas a little less?

 

It’s not like Gerard has anything to do with that.

 

\--

 

“Also, you need a haircut. Not that I don't like it long, but y'know what I mean.” 

 

“Yeah, I know.” Frank runs his fingers through his mop of thick hair. “Haven't got round to it yet.” He shrugs noncommittally. 

 

“I’ll cut it for you. Give me your address when you're on your break and I'll come round later.” Gerard seems to have no problem with being completely forward with the whole affair and thank god for that because if he wasn't making the moves, Frank would be tiptoeing around the situation, spending most of the time thinking about how to make the move rather than actually making it.

 

\--

 

That evening Frank’s sat in his kitchen, wringing his hands when the doorbell rings, the tinny sound echoing through the flat. The scuffle of Mama’s claws against the floor makes Frank smile slightly; Mama always goes crazy around guests. 

 

It doesn't stop the nervous flutter his heart gives when he goes to open the door and Gerard’s stood there, grinning like a madman. As soon as his eyes meet Mama’s fat little body that’s being guarded by Frank’s legs, his eyes light up and his mouth forms an ‘o’ shape. 

 

“Baby!” He squeals and shoves Frank out the way, grabbing Mama and hauling her up into his arms. “Who's a cutie? You! You’re a cutie little doggy.” He coos. “Hey, babe.” Gerard adds, almost like an afterthought, directed at Frank.

 

All Frank can do is shake his head at the surreality of the situation. It feels like his boyfriend's just returned from work, or something.

 

“So,” Gerard sets Mama back down on the ground, who dances around his feet. “Where d'you wanna do this?” His eyes turning darker and a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

 

Frank splutters. 

 

“I, uh, kitchen? The floor... I mean, the floor's, like, not carpet so...” He trails off. 

“Sounds good.” Gerard nods and sets off in completely the wrong direction. 

 

“Hey, uh, Gerard? It’s, um, it's through here?” He raises his eyebrows.

 

“Oh!” Gerard laughs at himself. “Man, this is weird. Your apartment is, like, the same layout to my little brother's? But his kitchen is down the hall and his bedroom is in here? I dunno.” 

 

“Uh, okay, cool,” Is all Frank can think to say and he feels like an idiot, but then again, when doesn't he feel like an idiot around Gerard. There’s just something about him.

 

“Awesome, so, you sit here and I’ll get to work then, I guess.” Gerard whips a pair of psychedelic hair scissors out of his back pocket and brandishes them at Frank, advancing on him till he slumps down in one of the stools. 

 

“Oh, you should probably take your top off.” Gerard tugs at the collar of Frank’s shirt. 

 

“Wuh-Why?” Frank stares up at Gerard and, fuck, no, he can’t blush now. 

 

Life hates him. Life really hates him.

 

“You don’t wanna get hair all over your top do you?” Gerard cocks his hips, one hand on his waist.

 

“Nuh, No, I guess not.” Frank nods mechanically.

 

“And get a towel or something, too.” Gerard instructs and Frank obeys, leaving the room to collect a towel from the top of his wardrobe. He decides to leave his tshirt in his bedroom and wrap the towel around his shoulders before he goes back into the kitchen, so he can spare himself the embarrassment of taking his clothes off in front of Gerard.

 

This plan backfires slightly as, when he walks into the room, Gerard gasps loudly and leaps towards Frank.

 

“You have more ink!” He shrieks, dropping to his knees right in front of Frank and, Jesus fuck, leans in to his stomach and starts tracing his fingertips, feather light, over the words printed there. 

 

“Wow. This is so cool. I mean, I love your other tattoos, Lady of Sorrows, right? And the Halloween over your fingers, what is that, by the way?” Gerard babbles and Frank manages to grind out that his birthday is on Halloween and Gerard exhales, breath warm and damp against Frank’s stomach. “So cool.” He replies in awe before getting to his feet. 

 

“Anyway, we should probably get on with this.” Gerard’s turning away and busying himself with his scissors and comb and all the other equipment that he somehow managed to fit in his back pocket, giving Frank time to compose himself. 

 

He flops down into the chair again and Gerard starts raking his fingers over the crown of Frank’s head. 

 

“You have nice hair. Mine’s all dead from dying it so much.” Gerard muses quietly, fingers twirling in Frank’s long ebony strands.

 

“You do have nice hair. It’s... bright.” Frank murmurs.

 

Gerard huffs out a laugh. “Thanks, I think.” 

 

“Yeah, that was a compliment.” Frank confirms and nods his head slightly, causing Gerard’s fingers to catch in his hair and tug slightly. 

 

He involuntarily whimpers slightly and, oh yeah, he kind of has a thing for hair pulling. So letting a very attractive person, who he may or may not have a massive crush on, tug and pull at his hair for an hour or so was probably a shitty decision on his part. 

 

“Okay then. I’ll leave enough on so I can get a good grip on it later.” And Frank can fucking hear the smirk in his voice, all deep and gravelly and that is not even a little bit fair.

 

Frank can’t wait for this to be over. Or maybe he doesn't want it to ever end. He hasn't decided yet.

 

\--

 

Around halfway through, Frank’s boner is actually getting kind of painful, so now you know why he doesn’t get his hair cut all that often. 

 

“So then I was like ‘Mikey, you're my brother and I love you, but you’re a fucking class-A idiot.’ I mean, the kid took a fucking heater into the shower with him. What a fuckass.” Gerard laughs, tugging at Frank’s hair a little harder. 

 

Frank’s at least 70% sure he’s doing this on purpose.

 

“Hey, did you know Bob and Mikey are dating?” Gerard asks, and it’s weird that he’s actually bringing Frank into the conversation because the entire time it’s been mainly Gerard talking at Frank.

 

“Yeah.” Frank replies.

 

“They’re so cute together.” Cute is not a word Frank would use to describe Bob, no matter who he’s dating. “I mean, apart from when they're fucking and I can't goddam sleep, y’know?” 

 

Oh, wow, the thought of Bob fucking anyone is enough to make Frank’s boner go away. 

He makes a mental note to thank him when he next sees him.

 

“You live with your brother?” Frank asks.

 

“Yeah, have for a couple years. He’s good to me. Can’t believe he’s put up with half the shit he has.” Gerard chuckles, but it’s sad. Not like the carefree laughs he offers to most people.

 

“What kind of shit?” Frank’s unsure whether he’s overstepping the boundaries here.

 

Gerard sighs and, yeah, Frank’s overstepped.

 

“Story for another time, yeah? Frank backtracks quickly, not wanting to completely ruin things with Gerard.

 

“Mmh.” Gerard hums. “Hey, I think you’re done!” He exclaims, his tone lightening considerably. 

 

“Awesome, thank you, dude.” Frank smiles as Gerard carefully removes the towel from around Frank’s shoulders and tips the hair into the bin. Frank runs a hand through his hair, shocked at how short it feels. 

 

“Looks great.” Gerard gives him a thumbs up and his trademark grin. 

 

“I’m gonna go check it out in the mirror.” Gerard nods and starts packing his things up as Frank makes his way to the bathroom. 

 

At first glance, Frank doesn't really recognise himself. He looks so much younger. His hair, rather than falling limply at his shoulders, now curls around his ears and at the back of his neck. His fringe is shorter, slightly over one of his eyes. 

 

Most importantly, it is still long enough for Gerard to grab hold of. 

 

Frank’s smile widens and he bounds back into the kitchen.

 

“Dude, this is r-” 

 

He stops as soon as he sees Gerard hunched over the table, head in his hands. Frank’s never seen Gerard look so upset, so deflated before. 

 

“Gerard?” He approaches apprehensively, speaking quietly. Mama's at Gerard's feet, resting her head on his toes, whining softly. 

 

“Frank, I should go.” Gerard’s voice cracks on the last word and Frank feels his heart lurch. It seems so wrong, seeing Gerard sad. It makes his stomach churn more than Christmas does. 

 

“Um, okay.” Frank replies slowly and Gerard gets to his feet, scrubbing his hands over his face. 

 

His eyes are slightly bloodshot and red-rimmed. 

 

“Hey, Gerard, are you okay?” Frank’s voice, so full of concern, only seems to upset Gerard further as he pushes past and into the hall. “Gerard!” 

 

“I'm sorry, babe.” Gerard shakes his head, not even turning to look at Frank before he leaves. 

 

Frank's left in the hallway with Mama pawing at his ankles, completely and utterly bewildered. 

 

\--

 

“What the fuck did you do to Gerard?” Bob hisses down the phone at Frank.

 

“What?” Frank mutters sleepily as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes and checks the clock on his bedside table. “Bob, it's like, 2am.” 

 

“I know. And Gerard just came in in tears.” And Frank’s sat straight up in bed.

 

“He what?” Frank whisper-yells so he doesn't wake Mama, who’s snoring contentedly at the end of the bed. 

 

“He relapsed, too.” Bob sighs heavily. 

 

“I don't... What?” Frank asks confusedly.

 

“Shit, he still has'’t told you.” Bob groans and Frank can hear a voice in the background that he assumes to be Mikey. “You should come over.” 

 

“Hasn't told me what?” Frank questions, but he's already pulling on a pair of ratty old jeans over the boxers he slept in. 

“You'll find out when you get here, I guess.” Bob’s voice sounds strained and Frank can tell he's scared. 

 

“Okay. Yeah, okay, I'll be there as soon as possible.” Frank has to take the phone from his ear for a few seconds while he yanks a tshirt on. “Wherever there is.”

 

Bob quickly reels off the address and Frank makes a mental note of it. “I'll see you in, like, 5.” He says, then hangs up. Frank’s been far too loud and now Mama’s awake and yawning but still refusing to leave Frank’s side as he collects his keys and shrugs a jacket on. 

 

“Looks like you’re coming with me then, huh, baby?” Frank shoves his feet in his tattered Vans and grabs Mama before bolting out the door.

 

\-- 

 

When he arrives at the door of the Ways' apartment, he actually finds himself incredibly scared of knocking. He's not entirely sure he wants to know about Gerard's past or what his relapse meant. 

 

But he doesn't get the chance to slip away unnoticed because Mama, the traitor, barks loudly to show her discomfort at the new surroundings. 

 

A few moments later, the door opens with a creak and a tall, bony man stands there. He has blonde hair that’s brown and shaved at the sides. He’s wearing a tired look on his face and, with the eyes, is undoubtedly Gerard’s brother Mikey.

 

“You're Frank, I’m guessing?” Mikey's voice is cold and hard and Frank internally flinches. Apparently he's the enemy and he doesn't even know what he's done. 

 

“Yeah, that’s me. And this is Mama. You must be Mikey.” Frank nods, trying not to feel intimidated by the glare that’s fixated on him.

 

“Come in,” Mikey replies simply, then turns and stalks off back into the apartment. Frank follows timidly, clutching Mama a little tighter, who's whining in protest.

 

As he walks through the hall he can’t stop his mind from wandering to what Gerard had said earlier and, yeah, Mikey's apartment is very similar to his, actually. 

 

Speaking of Gerard, when they reach Mikey's living room Frank’s heart clenches at the sight of him. He’s doubled over on the couch, head in his hands and his shoulders are shaking from crying. He looks like hell, his hair's damp and his nails are grubby.

 

He can smell the alcohol rolling off him in waves.

 

Frank’s stomach flips.

 

Bob’s sat next to Gerard, hand on his shoulder, with a pained expression on his face. 

 

“Gee...” Mikey's voice turns soft as he sits back down next to his brother and slings an arm around his shoulder. “Gee, Frank's here.” 

 

This only seems to make Gerard sobs harder and, ouch, that hurts. Frank doesn't even know what he’s done wrong! 

 

“Uh...” Frank starts, and Mama wriggles out of his arms and flops down on to the floor, trotting over to Gerard on her stumpy little legs and resting her head over his foot, like she had back at Frank’s apartment. 

 

“Mmh.” Gerard hums and sniffs loudly, looking up. His eyes are hollow and seem so much more dull without the sparkle they usually have. “Frankie, m'sorry.” He chokes out and Frank's shaking his head already.

 

“No, I... Don't apologise, I just want to know what I did wrong so I can fix it.” Frank's voice is small and sad and Mikey looks at him a little disbelievingly. 

 

“No,” Gerard moans, wiping his hands over his face which doesn't appear to be doing a lot as they’re covered in tears. “It isn't your fault, I'm just... I'm a mess.”

 

“Don't say that.” Mikey scolds. “You're not a mess. We fixed you up, remember? You're okay, Gee, you're okay.” His voice is filled with so much desperation that it makes Frank's heard physically ache. 

 

He crosses the room and sits in the arm chair next to the sofa, watching Gerard intently. 

 

Gerard looks up and Mikey and they stare into each other’s eyes for a few moments, seemingly having a telepathic conversation (and in the light of all things, Frank decides that's cool as _fuck_ ), before Mikey nods sympathetically and presses a long kiss to Gerard's hair, then stands and pulls Bob out of the room. 

 

He waits in the doorway for a few seconds, eyes fixating on Frank as he shoots him a warning glare and Frank gulps, nodding once. Mikey closes his eyes, exhales, and shuts the door to the lounge.

 

Gerard’s crying has reduced to little snuffles now and then, and he’s petting Mama’s head gently, scratching behind her ears. With his other hand, he reaches out and pats the sofa next to him, signalling for Frank to sit there, which he does. 

 

He exhales shakily and runs a trembling hand through his hair.

 

“Frank, I...” He swallows. “I'm really sorry, first of all.” 

 

Frank goes to say something, but Gerard holds up his hand to stop him. 

 

“Let me speak. Let me speak, please. I just... I need to tell you now.” 

 

Frank nods. 

 

“And I’m sorry I didn't tell you this before, or warn you, or anything like that. It was stupid of me, really. I just enjoyed pretending, I think. That’s probably it. There's this one great guy who likes me for me, y’know? Not what I've done in the past, who I've been in the past.”

 

Frank’s officially confused. Gerard sighs again, his shoulders slumping. 

 

“Okay, Frank. I’m going to tell you this because I want you to become a more permanent fixture in my life, or something like that. I don’t know. But you’re now really important to me and I've been worried that this will scare you away but you’re probably going to be more likely to run away if I don’t tell you this now and it comes out at a later date.”

 

And Frank’s freaking out inside. He has absolutely no idea what to expect. Is Gerard a secret serial killer? Fuck, come to think of it, he did see a man on the news channel a couple of years ago that looks suspiciously like him...

 

“Right, well. There’s no easy way to say this, really.” Gerard swallows again and his fingers are tracing the holes in his jeans, rubbing his palms over the rough material. Frank instinctively reaches out and grabs hold of his hand, squeezing his fingers gently. 

 

“It's okay, Gerard.” The corners of his mouth turn up in a slight smile. “You don’t have to tell me if you're not ready. I'm not going to force you.” Frank cups Gerard’s cheek gently, his thumb gliding over the soft, wet skin on his pale cheek. 

 

“Thank you.” Gerard whispers, his voice catching in his throat as he returns Frank’s smile with a weak one of his own.

 

“Hey, you're okay. You're okay, babe.” Frank pulls Gerard into an awkward side hug but Gerard just curls himself into Frank’s side, Mama leaping up into their laps as Gerard breaths out, hot and heavy against Frank’s neck. 

 

They stay like that for god knows how long, but Frank’s back is aching from being twisted at an awkward angle and Mama has fallen asleep again, drooling on Gerard’s jeans. Frank shifts and he can feel wetness press against his collarbone where Gerard’s tears have leaked into his shirt. 

 

And that, Frank thinks, is quite enough drama for one night.

 

\--

 

The next day, Gerard turns up outside the front of the shop a little late but Frank doesn't mind. He just offers Gerard his coffee (Gerard says they can share) and escorts him inside. 

 

The day goes by and everything seems to be back to normal, which Frank is grateful for. There’s no awkwardness between him and Gerard, just a lot of flirting (on Gerard’s behalf) and a lot of blushing (on Frank’s behalf). 

 

Bob also compliments Frank’s haircut, so he decides Mikey must be a good influence on him.

 

Frank’s just thinking about this, sat behind the counter while Gerard attends to the customers, usual Christmas cheer still intact, when his phone goes off - an unknown number calling. He frowns, but picks up anyway.

 

“ _Frank?_ ” Frank recognises that voice.

“Yeah?” 

“ _Awesome. I just want to let you know that I swear to god, if you break Gerard again, I will end you. He's fragile so don't you dare break him. Not after all the time it took to stick him back together again. He’s been through too much and I can’t see him break at the hands of some midget punk. Gerard loves completely or not at all, and I can see he's falling for you. He loves fiercely, you need to love him back with just as much passion. Treat him right. He likes you, Frank. He really does. Don’t abuse that. Please._ ” And Mikey hangs up. Frank’s left feeling more confused than ever.

 

\--

 

It's 5 days before Christmas and Frank's starting to think he's out of his mind because he's actually enjoying himself. Gerard's spinning and twirling him around in the park where they first met, because it's his break from the coffee stall, which he still works in every evening. 

 

“Frankie!” Gerard laughs, tipping his head back as he spins them around and around on the little podium that has tiny, white lights around the beams. 

 

Frank’s covered in coats and scarves and hats that Gerard insisted he wear as, after he told him about his shitty immune system, Gerard won't let him leave without at least a jacket on. 

 

“I feel sick!” Frank shrieks and Gerard’s laughing harder, his eyes crinkled up and his cheeks red from the cold. His hair almost matches the tip of his nose and it's curling into his eyes in the most adorable fashion. 

 

“You’re fine.” Gerard replies dismissively, tightening his grip on Frank’s mitten-covered hands. 

 

Gerard pulls Frank into his chest, wrapping his arms around Frank's plushy body and resting his forehead against Frank’s.

 

“I really like you, babe.” Gerard smells like burnt coffee beans and all the things he did when Frank first met him which makes him smile fondly at the memory.

 

“Me too.” Frank huffs out a little laugh and sniffs. 

 

“If I asked you to be my boyfriend, would you think I'm being too forward?” Gerard asks and Frank swears, under the rose tint of the wind-nipped cheeks, he can see him blushing.

 

“Gerard, forward is your style.” Frank reminds him and Gerard barks out a laugh, high and tingly that makes Frank's heart do the flippy over thing that he thought was only in books and movies. 

 

“Okay, Frankie, will you be my boyfriend?” Gerard whispers, his hands running up and down Frank’s sides as he speaks. 

 

“Mhmm.” Frank hums happily and nods. “Yeah, as long as you'll be mine.” 

 

Frank’s definitely warming up to this whole ‘Christmas’ thing.

 

\--

 

It’s Christmas eve, meaning Bob’s finally - _finally_ \- closed the shop for longer than a day. Frank’s reveling in the luxury, but in reality he quite likes working in the shop now. At first, it was just to help the shop get off the ground, but as it’s popularity has grown, Frank’s loving the feeling of actually belonging somewhere. 

 

And belonging is just how he feels right now. He and Gerard are cuddled up on Frank’s crappy, threadbare couch with Mama in between them, watching all the shitty Christmas movie marathons that Gerard insists are ‘ _part of the tradition_ ’. 

 

He’s even brought the mini Christmas tree that he keeps in his bedroom at home to Frank’s.

 

Gerard sighs happily and shuffles closer to Frank, pressing his face into Frank’s neck and kissing the skin there softly. 

 

“Thank you.” Frank murmurs so quietly he’s not sure Gerard would have known he’d spoken if not for the tell-tale vibrations of his voicebox against Gerard’s lips. 

 

“What for?” Gerard’s voice is croaky and rough from not being used, but Frank doesn't mind. It’s cute.

 

“Making me see the good in Christmas. I used to hate it. I hated it so much, so thank you for changing my mind.” Frank admits. Gerard sits up, resting his hand on the inside of Frank’s thigh.

 

“What happened?” Gerard questions carefully. He knows what it’s like to keep secret, god knows me does.

 

“I, uh... Can we turn the TV off?” Frank mirrors Gerard’s actions, propping himself up on his arm as he flicks the television off with the remote. “It’s just, this is kind of a serious thing.” 

 

Gerard nods solemnly, understandingly. 

 

“When I, uh... When I was little, my parents... they. My parents argued a lot. I was, uh, I was an accident, I guess? I mean, they wanted a kid, but they were, like, 18. They had no idea what they wanted. So when I came along...” Frank laughs. 

 

“They got married quickly after that. Which was a terrible choice. Uh, when I was, like, 7, I think, um... My mom killed herself on Christmas eve. Dad didn't find her till the next morning.” Gerard’s mouth hung open, his eyes watering. 

 

“Kind of a shitty present, huh? I wanted a bike.” Frank sighed. 

 

“Oh my god, Frank.” Gerard breathed, his hand tightening on Frank’s thigh.

 

“So, yeah. That’s why I don’t like Christmas that much. We didn't celebrate it after that. It was just my dad getting drunk and me locking myself in my room, trying to forget that I existed.” 

 

“I’m... I’m so sorry.” Gerard shook his head, eyes wide with horror. “Frank, I’m so so sorry.” 

 

“It’s... Thanks. I mean, thank you for making me like Christmas again. It’s taken me ages to even come around to the idea of liking this holiday. So... Thanks.” Frank meets Gerard’s eyes at last. 

 

Gerard has a sad smile on his face and a pained look in his eyes. 

 

“You’re so strong, Frank.” Gerard moves closer and Frank flickers his view down to Gerard’s lips, pale and pink and parted slightly. “So brave, so amazing.” And Gerard surges forward, pressing their lips together clumsily.  
They pause there for a few moments, lips smashed together at awkward angles, Frank stunned still. 

 

Then everything happens at once. All of the pent up hatred Frank’s been harboring, all of the sexual frustration he’s been keeping inside, all the tender comments he’s been waiting to spill.

 

They all pour out in one go.

 

He’s grabbing Gerard’s head in his hands, pressing rough kisses to Gerard’s lips, Gerard’s nose, Gerard’s eyelids, every inch of beautiful, pale skin that he can. 

 

And Gerard’s laughing, his gorgeous, hoarse laugh that makes Frank want to curl up and scream with happiness. 

 

Mama’s whining and barking, throwing herself off the sofa and running out the room as fast as her little legs will carry her. 

 

Frank coughs out a laugh and they’re both giggling, stealing kisses from each other's lips. 

 

“Gerard, Gerard, I think I love you.” Frank’s whispering against Gerard’s skin and he doesn't even care that he's only known Gerard for 2 weeks. 

 

This is it, for him. This is what love feels like. 

 

Gerard’s nodding rapidly, pressing his hand into the small of Frank’s back as he lifts the smaller man over him. “I know,” Gerard breathes into the crook of Frank’s neck, kissing his collarbones and licking the ink.

 

Frank tips his head back and gasps. 

 

“I love...” Gerard mumbles, voice steady against Frank’s skin. “Your tattoos. Have since I first saw you. The ones on your neck,” Gerard kisses the scorpion, his tongue tracing the tail. “And then the ones on your fingers,” His hand runs down Frank’s arm and grabs at his fingers, bringing them to his mouth. He runs his tongue up Frank’s middle finger and slowly brings it into his mouth, sucking. 

 

“Oh, fuck.” Frank’s eyes are half lidded as he stares at Gerard, whose cheekbones are jutting out over hollowed cheeks. 

 

Gerard pulls Frank’s finger out of his mouth, flicking his tongue across the top as he does so. 

 

“I knew you had more.” Gerard’s voice is low and husky and it’s sending shivers right down Frank’s spine. Goosebumps errupt over his skin and he curls the fingers on his free hand over Gerard’s shoulder.

 

“Let me see them now.” Frank nods and grabs the hem of his tshirt, yanking it over his head. 

 

“So hot. Such a beautiful boy.” Gerard hums, a smile playing on his lips as he trails his fingers across Frank’s chest. 

 

“I didn't notice this one before.” Gerard’s eyes are trained on the ‘Hope’ tattoo with the flames above it.

 

“Uh-huh.” Frank moans lightly, pushing his chest into Gerard’s touch, who huffs out a laugh. 

 

“You gotta be patient.” Gerard muses, and his right hand runs around Frank’s side, resting at the small of his back. He gently pulls Frank forward slightly and Frank’s knees shuffle on the threadbare couch cushions. 

 

Gerard leans in, his nose just touching the skin on Frank’s chest. His lips pucker and they leave fragile kisses up Frank’s chest. 

 

It’s probably one of the most romantic gestures Frank’s ever received. 

 

“Frank.” Gerard’s voice vibrates against Frank’s neck as he’s pulled out of his hazy state.

 

“Mmh?” He murmurs relaxedly. 

 

“Bedroom?” Gerard offers and Frank’s nodding slowly and jerkily, the joints in his body not seeming to be cooperating properly. Gerard seems to get the memo as he tucks his hands under Frank’s ass and lifts him as he stands, his strength taking Frank by surprise. 

 

Gerard still has his lips pressed to the pulse in Frank’s neck when the lights are turned off, door shut he’s being dropped down on to the bed, the mattress bouncing and creaking under the weight. 

 

The bed dips down on Frank’s right side, then his left, telling him that Gerard’s kneeling over him. And if that’s not enough, the warm breath suddenly on his lips is. 

 

“Kiss me.” Frank whispers into the darkness, his eyes searching for Gerard’s. He feels something wet and hot close over his bottom lip and suck, almost desperately. Gerard’s tongue pushes into Frank’s mouth, licking and tasting everywhere it can and Frank lets out a sigh.

 

He reaches up, fingers tangling in Gerard’s red locks, tugging and using the leverage to pull Gerard’s face further to his. 

 

“Babe,” Gerard pulls out of the kiss slowly, licking his own lips. “Frankie, I need.” Gerard’s breath is coming out in harsh, uneven pants and Frank can tell he’s freaking out slightly, which is understandable. 

 

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” Frank’s thumb rubs against Gerard’s cheek and the other runs down his back, fingers tracing little patterns. “We don’t have to do this, there’s nothing spoiling.” 

 

“No, I want... Frank, I need you to...” Gerard drops his forehead down on to Frank’s with a dull thud. 

 

Gerard kisses him again, breathing heavily through his nose, Frank’s hand still cupped over his cheek. 

 

Gerard slowly grinds his hips down into Frank’s, almost hesitantly. Frank groans into the kiss, the corners of his lips turning up into a secret smile, shared between him and Gerard only. 

 

“Yeah,” Frank mumbles against Gerard’s lips. “Again?” And the question comes out as more of a demand so Gerard does again, rolling his body down into Frank’s. 

 

Frank’s back arches and his lips leave Gerard’s, the friction a delicious relief. 

 

“We’re going to do this?” Gerard asks quietly, but his voice seems echoing in the silent, dark room. 

 

“If you want. Please, this your call.” Frank replies a little breathlessly, but he thinks he did a pretty good job of covering it up, all things considered.

 

“I want to. I’m okay, I.” Gerard stops.

 

“You?” 

 

“I love you.” 

 

Frank nods, his face splitting into a soft smile that Gerard’s just able to make out in the dark. 

 

It’s a calm, reassuring smile. 

 

Gerard loves it.

 

After that, everything happens at once. There’s clothes being torn off, limbs intertwining, teeth clashing. It’s so much, like a sensory overload, but Frank loves it. 

 

He revels in it. 

 

Everything’s just _Gerard Gerard Gerard_ and with his vision taken away, every other sense is hyper-aware of every touch, every lick, every twitch. 

 

It’s intoxicating and destroying and everything Frank’s been needing, craving, for so long. 

 

It’s all built up behind his walls, behind his eyes, pushing at tears, pushing at the stitches that he so painfully sewed shut years and years ago. It’s ripping and tearing down the blinds that he pulled over his eyes, the duct tape he used to fix his broken heart.

 

It’s melting the childish medical solutions and fixing them, the stitches are professional and done with care and a gentle, steady hand. 

 

His mind is unraveling, it’s pulling things from his memory that he’d forgotten. The breaths against his skin like the wind on the top of the block of flats as he stared down. The pinches and tugs like the fists of the tormentors. 

 

It’s bringing him to the edge and back down again, throwing him in the deep end of the pool when he doesn't know how to swim. 

 

But it’s okay, because it’s Gerard. 

 

And Gerard won’t let him sink. Won’t let him drown.

 

Gerard’s there all around him, encircling him with love and care and so many emotions Frank never knew could exist in his presence. 

 

Gerard’s fixing his wounds, licking at them with a scratchy tongue. 

 

It doesn't feel like sex. It doesn't feel like fucking. It doesn't even feel like making love. 

 

It feels like worship. 

 

They’re both so broken and all they needed was someone who understood so they could fix themselves. And that only came with fixing someone else in the process.

 

\--

 

They’re lying there in the dark, chests heaving and pants hot and hard into the air. There’s a thin sheen of sweat over both of their chests and the sheets are draped carelessly over their bare legs. 

 

Gerard slowly links their pinky fingers, squeezing slightly. 

 

“Frank,” His voice is rough and tired. “Frankie.”

 

“Yeah, Gerard.” Frank replies, moving his hand to link the rest of his fingers with Gerard’s.

 

Gerard clears his throat. “I want to tell you now.” 

 

Frank’s quiet for a moment. “Yeah?” He rolls over on to his side and brings their intertwined fingers up between their faces. Gerard copies his movements. 

 

“Yeah. I’m ready to tell you.” Gerard nods and Frank can make out the shadows of his eye sockets in the darkness and he imagines the light hazel orbs staring straight at him. 

 

“Okay,” Frank unconsciously strokes his thumb over Gerard’s. “This isn't because I told you my thing, is it?” 

 

“No, I feel ready to tell you now. Right now. I want to do it now.” Gerard’s voice his urgent and eager. 

 

“Hey, shh, it’s okay. We've got all the time in the world. You're okay. Tell me in your own time.” Frank calms him and Gerard lets out an unsteady breath.

 

“Okay. Frank, there was this man. I was 15 when it happened, a fucking freshman. He... He was called,” Gerard gulped. “Bert.” He spat, the name like venom on his tongue. 

“I was 15 and I was walking home from school. I was a fucking loser in highschool, babe. I was fat and nerdy. I don’t even know why it happened.” Gerard laughed sadly. “But I was walking home and it was dark because I'd had detention for cursing out a teacher. And I don’t really remember what happened, but there was pain and then dark. And when I  
woke up he was there, over me, and,” Gerard stops again to compose himself and clear his throat. Frank makes a soft noise.

“Fuck, Frank, he did things to me and I don't want to say, but I need to tell you.” Gerard hustles forward on the bed, burying his face in Frank’s neck and breathing slowly, exaggeratedly, like if he doesn't then he’ll forget to breathe at all.

“It's... He starved me and I thought that was bad enough. A week. He left me a week without food, to start off. It was horrible, I thought I was dying.” Gerard laughs again. To Frank, happiness is Gerard’s defense. If he can laugh something off, then it won't affect him, won't dig into his mind and scratch away at his brain.

 

“The first time he... I’d lost track of how long I’d been there when he... It was basement. He must have kept me in a basement, God knows I've lived in one long enough to recognise the feeling.” Gerard quickly changed the subject of his own train of thought.

 

“Gerard?” Frank’s voice broke through the silence. “Please don’t push yourself to tell me anything, okay?”

 

“I really really want to, Frankie. I'm not doing this for you, I’m doing it for me. I need to tell someone the full story. Please, let me tell you.” Gerard tilts his head back and Frank can feel Gerard’s lips brush against his own as he speaks. 

 

Frank nods.

 

“I’d been there for months, it must have been. And he came into the room and he talked to me. I’d almost forgotten what attention was like. And he called me beautiful. God, fuck, I can still feel his fingers on my ribs.” Gerard’s entire body shuddered and Frank tightened his grip on him. 

 

“It... He fucked me. On the floor, on my hands and knees. Jesus, I cried so much I could barely even think straight. It was so brutal, rough and hard and the pain didn't compare to anything I’d ever felt before. When he was... done he just got up, kicked me a couple of times, tied my hands to the bedpost and left me there, crying and bleeding.” 

 

Frank’s heart clenched.

 

“Next time he came in, he wasn't alone. There were... 2 other men with him. I was still aching, he’d only... a couple of days ago. My hair had grown and it was all in my face and he grabbed me by it and pulled me up. Then he started... fucking complimenting me. Saying how I was ‘beautiful’ and ‘gorgeous’. ‘Such a good little slut.’ He’d say.” Frank felt wet against his neck and, paired with the way Gerard’s voice kept hitching, he could tell he was crying now.

 

“And then... And then he just let them fuck me. I screamed, I screamed so much I thought my throat was going to bleed. I begged for them to just stop, stop for a few seconds so I could adjust. ‘Shut the fuck up!’ He’d yelled, and slapped me for good measure. Backhand straight across the face. I could feel it for days."

 

"He would sell me out. Different men every week, every _day_. I was just a kid, Frank. He'd bring them down and introduce me and I'd have to moan and pretend I was enjoying it. Fuck, I hated it, Frankie. I _hated_ it. So much pain... it never fucking stopped."

 

Frank shook his head in disbelief, mouth hanging open in a soft pout. 

 

"He was the worst, though. By far the worst. Because he'd just stand there and watch. Smirk on his face, staring right into my eyes as I was fucking _moaning_ to keep some fat, ugly businessman who's wife had stopped touching him years ago happy. Fucking hell, I hate him. I hate him _so much_. I would take a thousand fuckings from random men just to keep him away from me." 

 

Hearing Gerard talk with such anger, such pure, livid hatred, makes Frank's skin crawl.

 

“It went on like that for years, Frank, years. I was 19 when I escaped. Fuck, it was one of the most terrifying things ever. He’d left the door open, accidentally. He was drunk. He was always worse when he was drunk; there was more hitting. But he’d passed out on the couch and the door was open and I didn't even think twice about it. My entire fucking body was on fire, God, it hurt everywhere. I was completely naked, bloodied and bruised but I just ran and ran and ran. I must've passed out from exhaustion and pain or something because when I woke up, I was in a hospital bed with my little brother by my side.” Frank can feel Gerard smile against his skin.

 

“Jesus, Mikey was so happy. I hadn't seen my little brother in 4 years, Frank. We’d just hugged and cried and hugged some more and he told me I’d been in hospital for 3 weeks. When my mom and dad came in, there was more crying and then the doctor came in and asked me what happened. Then I remembered it all and I passed out again. When I woke up again, 2 weeks later, I could tell it was for good that time. So I told them some bullshit lie about being caught up in a drug circle, fuck, I have no idea how they believed me, but they did. And the doctors asked about... about the rape... and I bullshitted my way through that, too. I just... I didn’t mean to, it was just easier than telling them the truth.”

There were several moments of silence while the information sunk in. Gerard's breathing had calmed, and he was nuzzling the side of Frank's neck softly.

 

“So why all the happiness around Christmas?” Frank can’t help but ask, deciding its better to move on rather than question what Gerard just confessed.

 

“A distraction, I guess. I spent 4 years out of touch with everyone and everything. I missed so much of my life while I was there. I want to make the most of everything I can while I have the chance.” 

 

“Does Mikey know the truth?” Frank whispered into Gerard’s hair.

 

“Yeah. He knows. But not all the details. Please don’t tell him what I told you.” Gerard’s interrupted halfway through his sentence with a yawn. 

 

“Of course, anything, Gerard.” Frank presses a kiss to the crown of Gerard’s head and turns to lie on his back, pulling Gerard half on top of him. 

“Oh, and there’s something else.”

 

“Yeah?” Frank prompts, gently.” 

 

“I, uh... When I left yours the other night...” Gerard sighs. “I used to be an alcoholic. When I... when I came back, I needed a way of forgetting what had happened and those few, glorious hours where I was too past it to even see my hand in front of my face were the only relief I got. And when I left yours the other night...”

 

“You relapsed.” Frank fills in, sadly.

 

Gerard nods. “I mean, please don’t think it’s your fault. It’s just... It triggered a lot of memories, I don’t know why. But it wasn’t your fault, at all. I just have an addictive personality, it’s completely toxic and it’s going to kill me one day.” Gerard states. “I think I’m getting addicted to you.” He adds as an afterthought.

 

“Don’t do that.” Frank warns

 

“Why not?” Gerard presses his face into Frank’s chest and nips the skin with his front teeth.

 

“Because you’ll get bored of me, one day.” Frank teases and Gerard shoves him with his shoulder.

 

“Shut up and sleep.”

 

And Frank can do nothing but obey.

 

\--

 

They wake up the next morning still exhausted, still slightly tearful from last night’s confessions, and very sore (on Frank’s behalf). 

 

“Merry Christmas.” Is the first thing on Frank’s lips as he feels Gerard stir on his chest. He’s been awake for half an hour or so, just watching the rise and fall of Gerard’s chest and his eyes moving behind the lids. 

 

“Mmh, you too.” Gerard hums, and blinks his eyes open. “Hey, it’s Christmas!” He exclaims excitedly, as though the realisation has just dawned on him. 

“Yep, it’s Christmas.” Frank grins. 

 

He’s pretty sure it’s the first time a smile has made it’s way on to his face on Christmas morning in over 10 years. 

 

And it’s all because of Gerard.


End file.
